


I always figured that I'd be the one to die alone

by thesweetpianowritingdownmylife



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Don't read if you're part of the CR cast or crew, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Resonant Echo, doppleganger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife/pseuds/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife
Summary: Resonant Echo: A spell that taps into unused branching timelines to create an easily-destroyed echo copy of the caster that lasts for up to eight hours and has the ability to cast one spell as a bonus action, then vanishes.It's usually passive and obedient. So everyone is surprised when the one that Caleb summons seems fixated on Essek.(Or, Essek ponders on how he is not the best version of himself, apparently)
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 13
Kudos: 363





	I always figured that I'd be the one to die alone

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before the Essek reveal from ep 97...maybe around ep 95? I've had this in my drafts for a while. It's barely edited, and not beta-read, but I thought I'd better publish it than letting it rot in my computer.  
> Title from Matt Maeson's "Me and my friends are lonely"

The snowstorm rages over their heads as they crowd at the base of the mountain, staring at the mouth of the cave. The wind batters against their tired bodies, insufficiently covered for such an inclement weather, and makes their teeth clack together. Even Essek, under his usual heavy mantle, seems to be feeling the bite of the freezing air. It makes his bones ache, his usual pain flaring up to almost unbearable levels, and there is frost encroaching on his eyebrows and hair.

“We have to follow them in,” says Beauregard, trying not to shake so much. “They’re on their last legs, if we try-”

“I _need_ to rest,” Jester interrupts her, “I have nothing. What am I supposed to do? Run after them with my tiny ax?”

“You’ve burst a man’s skull open with that thing!”

“He had his back turned. I got lucky.”

“I don’t think they’re gonna go anywhere,” Yasha says. “We pretty much caught them with their pants down. I think we can wait them out, and deal with them when they try to escape.”

“Okay okay okay.” Jester turns to Caleb. “Put up the dome so I can take a nap right now.”

He looks especially haggard, amongst the snow and the biting wind. Not the best background for a fire mage. He takes out his spellbook with shaking fingers and begins the incantation.

Essek sighs. They’ve been trudging through this storm chasing a group of scourgers transporting a stolen beacon, cornering them into the wilds, and they have taken refuge into the cave. He has no doubts that they are waiting inside, poised to attack them if they dare to follow, knowing their position offers them a strategic advantage. The storm shows no signs of abating, and his companions look miserable under it. Even Jester, who is resistant to cold, is having a hard time of it. All the spell casters are practically out of juice. It makes sense, to stop and rest, but the mere idea of sleeping in that freezing ground is making his bones hurt. He will get no rest that way, but he has an idea. Essek rummages through several Pockets of Holding inside his mantle until he finds a scroll and a couple of spell components.

“I have something that might help.” He turns to Caduceus. “We need to spend the night here, and we’ll keep watch, but I’d rather we make it as difficult as possible for them to leave. Could you stoneshape the mouth of the cave shut?”

The firbolg is being held up by Fjord, exhausted. He’s told them that the cold doesn’t agree with his constitution, and he truly looks seconds away from collapsing, but he nods and stands straighter, approaching the cave as much as he dares to avoid being hit by a spell from inside. He raises his trembling arms to cast the spell, and the sides of the cave start coming together. A desperate man runs out as it closes, terrified of being swallowed by the rock, and Nott pierces him with two arrows, giving Yasha enough time to step closer and cut off his head with her huge blade.

Essek side-eyes the commotion distractedly as he examines the words on the scroll. It’s the first time he’s cast this spell, so he wants to make sure he doesn’t make any mistakes. He puts a miniature portal carved from ivory on the ground and recites the words on the scroll. It crumbles to dust and the portal grows and grows, becoming a shimmering window before them. “Go through it, and you’ll find yourselves safe from the elements.”

There’s a bit of hesitation in Nott’s and Fjord’s eyes, but he tries not to let it bother him. It’s a consolation that Caleb walks right in, followed closely by Jester pulling Beau and Yasha by the hands. Caduceus gives Fjord a small nudge and they both go through as well.

“I’ve got alcohol in there,” Essek promises Nott, and she steps through after directing one last suspicious look at him. He follows her.

There isn’t a sound of chimes as he steps in, although that is not unexpected, since he has not opened a physical door. Other than that, it feels like he has just stepped into the Xhorhaus, with all its familiar sights and smells. The Nein stare at him expectantly, confusion clear on their faces.

“I need someone to keep watch on the face of the mountainside, and alert us if there are any changes, if the rock is broken or someone comes close from any direction,” Essek speaks into the air, and immediately a ghost-like servant materializes next to him, startling the rest of the group. The apparition nods, and waits for further instructions. Essek knows his orders are being carried out by another of the hundred servants available in the house. “I’d like for there to be a feast prepared for us, in the highest chamber, and make sure that there are plenty of vegetarian options.”

“But also bacon,” Beau pipes up almost reflexively.

“But also bacon,” Essek echoes. “Obey any orders that these people give you as well.”

The ghostly servant nods again and melts into the air when it’s clear that Essek will not give them any further commands.

“Where are we? This isn’t our house,” Caduceus asks. His ears swivel back and forth nervously, and his grip on Fjord’s arm is white-knuckled. His fur stands on end, miffed by the subtle wrongness of this fake house.

“It’s a Magnificent Mansion,” Caleb says, “he can make it look like whatever he wants.” He turns to Essek. “I saw you using a scroll for it, was that not very expensive? You should not have wasted it on us, we could have…”

“I did not such thing. It was a gift from my cousin, and I thought of it as a useless one, since I barely leave Rosohna unless I’m dropping you lot somewhere. I didn’t consider it worth learning, but I made a copy just in case, which is currently at my house for safekeeping. The only expense was the paper, other than the components, so don’t worry about it.”

Caleb relaxed a bit. “Thank you for the shelter. This is much more comfortable than the dome. How come you modeled it after our home?”

“I have very little imagination,” he lies. Amid the haze of pain that the storm had caused him, all he had wanted was the warmth and comfort that he associates with this house. “I thought the familiarity would make it more comfortable for you.” He looks at Caduceus. “Sorry if that’s not the case.”

Caduceus smiles at him, perking up slightly. “Knowing your intention behind it, I’m already more at ease. Thank you for the gesture, it’s very kind of you.”

“Your rooms will look different, because I’ve never seen the inside of them, other than Caleb’s.” Beau snorts at that, and Jester tries to smother a giggle behind her hand, but Essek pays them no mind. “I have tried making them as comfortable as possible, but if there’s anything that is not to your liking, you can ask the servants what other options they can provide.”

“Are you kidding? Blankets and mattresses and not freezing our asses out there? That’s more than I was expecting for tonight. Thanks a lot, Essek,” Fjord says sincerely.

Essek waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. You’ll find clothes in the rooms. Go change and then join me in the roof, I have something to show you.”

He dithers in the entrance, waiting until everyone is gone before downing a potion in two gulps. The healing spreads, dulling the ache, and he breathes easily once more.

Caduceus comes to find him a bit meekly after a couple of minutes. “Um, my room was on the roof, and it looks quite different.”

“Oh? I…assumed you shared a room with Fjord,” Essek says, perplexed. Caduceus blushes, cheeks turning as pink as his hair. “Sorry for the oversight. I made a couple of extra rooms in the second floor, you can use one of those,” he adds quickly.

“Thank you.” He walks away, ears pointing downwards in embarrassment.

When they have changed out of their wet, freezing garments, they go upstairs to find the roof has been turned into a sumptuous room covered by a massive, completely see-through glass dome. It is as warm as the rest of the house, and outfitted with several plush sofas facing outside, each of them with a little coffee table in front of it with a spyglass on top. In the center of the room lays a table set for eight, already loaded with wine, cheeses, bread and grapes. A few of the servants stand near the glass walls, looking into the distance in every which direction. The Nein sit at the table with pleased noises, and Essek sits between Caduceus and Caleb. Soon more servants appear carrying plates of hot food for them.

They all pounce into the food, near-starved as they are after their long trek through the frozen landscape. Caduceus is the only one who pushes the food around his plate, his lips pursed in mild annoyance. “It’s alright, I guess.”

“Food summoned by magic cannot compare to food made with love, I’m afraid,” Essek comments, staunchly ignoring the way Nott is tearing into a pheasant’s leg with her sharp teeth, and the gleeful sounds Beau is making as she piles a veritable mountain of bacon onto her plate, and how Caleb reaches for a third serving of sausage soup.

“I don’t think they agree,” Caduceus grumbles back.

“I agree with Essek, your food is miles better,” Fjord assures him. “We’re just very hungry. And some of us might, um, miss the meat a little. Not me, though.” Essek quirks an eyebrow at the meatballs on his plate, which Fjord is trying to subtly cover with leafy salad.

“Yeah, I prefer your cooking every day,” confirms Jester, although her point comes across a bit weak due to the sauce stains around her mouth. “But look at it this way, you got a day off from cooking.”

Caduceus huffs, but is placated by Fjord passing him a slice of mushroom pie.

After dinner, they all file to their rooms yawning, safe in the knowledge that they will be awoken by the servants if there’s any activity on the closed cave, and wanting to get as much sleep as possible before that happens. Caleb hangs behind, and Essek looks at him questioningly.

“I’m going to cast Ressonant Echo,” Caleb explains. “He can also keep watch, and be ready to cast Wall of Fire if they try to leave the cave. It might stall them long enough for us to wake up and get down there.”

“Good idea.”

Caleb begins the incantation. Essek looks at him, full of pride for the success of his student. He suspects that Caleb is showing off a little, proving his worth even if it’s not in question, not in Essek’s eyes. Ten minutes later a black and white copy of Caleb coalesces between them, but instead of passively waiting for orders, the echo looks at Essek transfixed, a haunted expression on his face, and walks until he stands in front of him. His hands reach to cup the drow’s face, and he brings their foreheads together. He is saying something, but it sounds like vague, unintelligible whispers. Essek is frozen in place, too taken aback to do anything about it, and he can feel himself blush from the proximity of this version of Caleb, devoid of color but with eyes filled with even more pain than the original.

“ _Was zum Teufel_. Step away, you freak,” Caleb orders, flustered and blushing as well. The echo is compelled to obey, but he still looks at Essek with longing, hands spasming open and closed with the need to touch. “I am very sorry, I have no idea what that was about.”

Essek thinks he hears a lie, but he’s much too distracted by the echo in front of them. He brings a hand up to his own face, where the echo touched him, before he remembers himself and lets it fall back down. There is so much pain in the echo’s eyes that he feels the urge to just run to him and gather him in his arms. It’s always difficult, to see Caleb suffering and not being able to do anything about it, and even if this is clearly not his Caleb, with the gray features and the voiceless whispers, the urge to soothe him is still there. “It’s okay,” he manages to say, and he is not entirely sure whom he is addressing. He tears his eyes away from the echo at last and looks at Caleb, the real one. He seems uncomfortable with what has just transpired, and it makes something ugly curl up at the pit of Essek’s stomach. “I’m going to bed, if you don’t need me here.” He walks away without another glance to either of them, but he can hear the echo trying to follow after him, and Caleb harsh Zemnian tones, probably reprimanding him for doing so.

He goes to the ground floor and enters a room that doesn’t exist in the original house, and which he placed next to Caleb’s because he’s damnably weak. It is modeled after his own bedroom, with all of the amenities he is used to. He slips into the bed that feels very much like his own and wrestles his agitated thoughts into calmness, falling into a trance.

He wakes up four hours later, fully rested, but the ache that the cold caused still lingers in his bones. He asks for a report from the servants; everything seems copacetic, the rock cover hasn’t been blown out and no reinforcements have been spotted coming in from any direction. The people in the group they were chasing need sleep too, after all. Essek would have rather faced them when they were tired and at the end of their rope, but the Mighty Nein and himself had been completely out of juice. However, once both sides are rested, he is confident that his own group will have the upper hand. There’s still hours to go before they are ready to make their attack. Essek is very thankful that he can function with little rest on account of his race; he can’t even imagine how his work would pile up if he had to be unconscious for eight hours every night.

He orders a servant to prepare him a strong black tea to infuse some warmth into his still-aching bones and makes his way upstairs once more. He is expecting the supernatural figure of the echo, standing watch by the point nearest to the cave, but is once more surprised by the intensity with which he looks at him when his eyes fall on Essek. His whole body tenses, like he’s fighting with himself to not run to him again. Essek holds his gaze without flinching until he turns to look out of the window once more.

Yesterday it haunted him, but now it mostly makes him curious. Every time he has cast this spell himself his own versions seemed submissive and devoid of personality. But Essek suspects he has more practice than Caleb in not showing his emotions, so it is possible that his echoes have been simply putting on a mask.

One he gets his tea, he picks the sofa nearest to the echo to sit on, and he doesn’t miss the quick side-eyed look that the echo sends him. Frumpkin lies on the back of the same couch, swinging his tail lazily. Essek smiles as he stirs one spoonful of honey into the tea, the sound of the spoon hitting the cup resonating in their surrounding stillness. “Did I die in your timeline?”

His voice startles the echo, who clearly hadn’t been expecting to be addressed. He looks at Essek for a long moment before slowly nodding. The omnipresent agony in his eyes seems to increase.

The possibility doesn’t surprise Essek, nor scare him. Unless he manages to die out of range of the beacons, dying will be a minor inconvenience at best. An insidious, morbid voice inside him wants to know the how of the matter, and there’s a shiver down his spine when he considers that it might have been permanent, to have left Caleb in such a pained state. But his intent isn’t to torture the echo, but to comfort him. “Was it a short time ago?”

The echo nods again. He begins blinking rapidly, rubs his eyes to make some sudden tears disappear.

Essek sips his tea and gives him a moment to collect himself. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says sincerely. It’s odd, to offer condolences for one’s own demise, but something he might encounter in his future, when meeting past acquaintances in his next life. It’s clear that the event has shattered the human, and he has a suspicion why. He bites his lip. He wants to know, but he’s not sure the answer would bring him any peace. His curiosity eventually gets the better of him. “Were you two…involved?” he asks as neutrally as he can, even as his heart stutters a little in his chest.

The look he gets in response is surprised and confused, and for a moment Essek thinks that he has read the echo entirely wrong. Then the echo nods emphatically, frowning in disbelief. _Duh_ , he seems to say.

“Oh.”

There’s a beat of silence. Essek downs the rest of his tea as if it were a shot of whiskey, and it burns down his throat like one. He should not have asked. Jealousy –for himself, what an idea– chokes the air out of him. The thought that a version of him, in another timeline, had been smart enough, or witty enough, or helpful enough to successfully seduce Caleb is a bitter pill to swallow. He has spent his whole life trying to be the best possible version of himself to make up for the fact that he wasn’t anyone else before, and now there’s proof that he has failed even in this endeavor. And to think that that Essek had gone and left his Caleb in even more pain than before is unbearable. He feels the absurd, silly need to apologize for causing this suffering. He isn’t that better, more successful version of himself that this Caleb had loved. The words would be empty.

It’s a testament to his distraction that he doesn’t notice the echo approach him until he sits next to him on the sofa. He tries to reign in his wildly running thoughts before looking him in the eye. “Can I ask for a favor?” the echo signs.

“You know Undercommon Sign Language?” Essek asks, surprised.

“You thought it would be a good idea to teach me, just in case,” he replies. “You were right, as usual.”

He smiles so warmly that Essek doesn’t have the heart to correct him, to say it wasn’t really him. He wonders what it must be like, for him, what degree of consciousness this shadow holds. Maybe everyone from this reality looks like ghosts to him. He wasn’t surprised when Essek had mentioned the timeline thing, so he must be familiar with the spell, have some degree of knowledge of what has happened to him, but he could still be confused. Or maybe he just considers that all Esseks are one and the same, and distinguishing between his and him doesn’t make much sense. Essek finds it imperative that he understands his situation; it’s only fair.

“To the best of my knowledge, you won’t retain your memories of this,” Essek explains as gently as he can, “ _you_ are not really here, this is mostly…a copy of you, one that will disappear in a few hours, without taking this experience back to the original you.” He puts the empty cup on the table, trying to buy himself time. “I hope seeing me hasn’t reopened the grief, but if it has…well, you can take comfort on the fact that you will not remember this pain.” The echo nods slowly, apparently unsurprised by the information, and keeps looking at him expectantly. “Sorry, right,” he rubs his forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache starting to bloom, “a favor. I’m not good at denying you those,” he chuckles, and the echo’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “Go ahead.”

The echo hesitates for a moment, hands curling and uncurling on his lap. Finally he brings them up to speak. “Can I hold your hand?”

His face is flushed and his expression mortified. He drops his hands back on his lap right after, starts to faintly scratch at his arms.

The request is so unexpected that for a minute, Essek doesn’t react. Then a part of his brain, the one who cannot bear to see Caleb, any Caleb, suffer, makes him reach for the hand that’s scratching. The movement stops under his touch right away, and the hand turns palm up to hold Essek’s hand back. The echo’s whole body relaxes, sinking further into the sofa. He covers their joined hands with his other hand, almost cradling Essek’s, and lets out a deep breath. He looks at Essek with unending gratitude.

The pathetic expression makes his stomach turn in pity. “It’s the least I can do.” It comes out more strained that he would have liked, and he hopes that the other is not discouraged by it.

“What about the other me?” the echo asks, one-handed, before returning to his former position.

“We’re not…” shame curdles in his gut, and his brain provides a list of all his deficiencies, all the reasons his Caleb barely looks at him. “He doesn’t see me that way,” he says instead, and he laughs softly at the echo’s comical look of incredulity. “He’s really not interested,” he insists a bit more grimly, knowing the smile on his face has turned bitter and sad. The embarrassment that this hopeless longing has caused him bites at him, but he thinks _this_ Caleb won’t judge him too hardly for it.

Caleb frees both of his hands for a moment to reply. “I find hard to imagine a world where I wouldn’t want you.” A second later he cringes, covering his face with his hands as Essek laughs good-naturedly.

“That was very corny, but I appreciate the sentiment.” It makes his heart speed up a little, too.

The echo looks at him from between his fingers, a new, daring look in his eye, alight in the same way as his Caleb’s when he tries to convince him to teach him a new spell. “I assume you would not be opposed to such an arrangement?” he guesses.

Essek looks down, where his hand has been abandoned on the echo’s thigh. Following his eye, the echo takes it once again, giving it an encouraging squeeze. Essek’s throat is suddenly very dry, and he clears it noisily. “You assume correctly.”

They spend a long moment in silence as the echo wrestles visibly with himself, making several attempts to start a sentence and dropping his hand before forming any sign. Essek waits, slightly amused by the silent dilemma and enjoying the feeling of Caleb’s hand in his. It’s different from what he assumes a human would feel like; it’s cold and almost translucent to the touch, as if he’s only a couple degrees more solid than a ghost. But it’s still Caleb’s hand, rough and ink-stained, and Essek has day-dreamed about these hands much more often than he cares to admit to not be grateful for the opportunity to touch them.

The echo takes a deep breath, seeming to arrive to a satisfactory conclusion after a long argument with himself. He squeezes Essek’s hand to get his attention. “Do you want more?”

He is staring at Essek’s lips. There is no doubt about what’s being offered.

Now it’s Essek’s turn to struggle with this decision. The heat in Caleb’s face is unmistakable, and not altogether surprising. It would be easy, to let himself go and take it. But is it right? Or is it disrespectful to Caleb, his Caleb, who would never consent to such a thing? And should Essek allow himself to have this once, know what it is like, and then content himself with just the memory of it? He is greedy, and the future is far away. They’re alone in a room full of ghosts, and what Caleb doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.

“Yes,” he says at last, his voice breathy.

The echo moves immediately, as if hearing that he will change his mind. He stands up and moves in front of Essek, kneeling on the couch to straddle him, hands cupping his nape. He waits for a second, looking at him intently, until Essek nods his consent, and then he dives in for the kiss.

Despite the passion behind it, it’s lighter than any other kiss he’s ever experienced, almost as if he were kissing a being made of air. The weight on his lap is almost negligible, and for a moment the whole thing makes him feel cold. But then Caleb opens his mouth and their tongues meet, and yes, it is different, but it also takes his breath away. There are fingers scratching at his undercut over and over, as if reacquainting themselves with the texture. He can smell him, muted but still there, a mix of sulfur, cat hair and sweat, just like his Caleb. And maybe he’s been looking at it wrong, maybe it’s useless to talk about versions, about his Caleb as if he were a different entity to the man kissing him silly, when it is clear that this is Caleb, with his intelligence, his passion, his loyalty. Caleb is kissing him frantically, rough with teeth and despair, and Essek can tell his lips will be swollen after but he doesn’t mind. He gives as good as he gets, pouring his frustration, his damnable _longing_ for this man into a kiss that feels more stolen the longer it goes on, no matter how enthusiastically given. A chasm starts opening in his chest, a whisper in the back of his mind reminding him that he will pay dearly for this memory, for having tasted what he knows he can never have again. But the weakest part of him insists that he is doing this for Caleb, he’s easing away the agony that was shining in his eyes, so it’s okay, Essek can make that sacrifice.

Then Caleb grinds down on him, and Essek can feel the hard line of his cock under the clothes. It yanks him back to reality, even if he can feel an answering wetness between his own legs. There’s still a line they shouldn’t cross here. He forces himself to focus on the alien feelings, the lightness and the chill from the welcoming body. This echo is not his Caleb, and Essek is not really the drow that the echo fell in love with and now mourns, no matter how hard they lie to themselves about it. To go further would be a disrespect to his memory and to the living, breathing Caleb sleeping down below.

“Not that,” Essek says, gripping the echo’s hips to still them. “Please.”

The echo stops as soon as the words leave his mouth, still panting. Only then does Essek notice that his own breathing is altered, too. Caleb shifts to lift from his position, but Essek maintains the grip on his hips, not allowing him to move away. After a few seconds of tense silence while they both get their breathing under control while avoiding each other’s eyes, the echo cups his face again and gives him another kiss, this one chaste and impossibly tender. The knot of anxiety that formed in Essek’s chest as he noticed the other’s erection begins to melt away, reassured that things won’t go any farther. He kisses back with the same gentleness, knowing their contact is now fragile and could shatter like glass with a rough move. It breaks anyway when a sudden sob breaks from the echo’s lips, making him pull back, and Essek can see that tears have started falling from his eyes.

“This was a mistake,” he says, and Essek almost can’t understand it from how badly his hands are shaking.

He hugs the echo’s body closer, and he lets him, collapsing on top of him, burying his face on Essek’s neck. His wails sound like the creaking of dry leaves and the distant sound of the wind more than a human lament, but the way he shakes against Essek’s frame is viscerally real. Essek rubs his hands up and down his back, whispering what he hopes are comforting words, but he’s at loss to what to do. He has never seen this kind of grief up close, never interacted with someone this lost. He briefly considers going to wake Caduceus (didn’t he say he used to tend a graveyard? Surely he’d know what to do, what to say) to ask him for advice, but the firbolg still needs a good couple of hours until he is restored. Besides, that would mean separating from the weeping man on his lap, and Essek would sooner part with one of his own limbs right now. It would be a crime to abandon him, so Essek pulls him as close as possible and keeps murmuring nonsense until his shaking dies down and he starts breathing normally again. The echo sits back up after a few minutes, and Essek’s arms fall limply on his sides.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.” Essek is still sporting a deep frown of worry.

“Don’t be. It was my idea, after all,” the echo points out. “You have never been good at stopping me when I intend to self-destruct.”

Essek’s heart clenches. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. He’s never felt more useless in his life.

The echo kisses his forehead and hugs him again, caressing his nape. He sighs, and slides to the side until he’s back to sitting on the sofa instead of on Essek’s lap, and this time Essek lets him go without protesting. They sit together, sides touching, and the echo tentatively takes Essek’s hand again, bringing it to his lips and then pressing it against his chest. The echo is caressing his hand, and it hurts his heart a little, but he cannot find the strength to pull away. They both look out the window, to the spot in the mountainside that they were supposed to be monitoring, but luckily there don’t seem to be any visible changes. Besides, the servants would have alerted them if something had happened.

There’s still sadness and guilt on the echo’s face when he turns to him. “Would you tell me about your childhood? I’m curious. You…he…never got around to it. But he wanted to, I think. He wanted me to know.”

Essek is not so sure. But what does he know, about this other, wonderful, exciting, dead Essek? Maybe his honesty is what sets them apart. Maybe he can make an effort to be like him once, for this black and white Caleb, in the last hours of his life.

So he tells him about growing up being an umavi’s son. He tells him about the luxury and the privilege, about the opportunities and the warmth of his den. About the expectations as his teenage years approached, and the disappointment as they passed without recollection of another life. He tells him about starting behind his peers, already two or three lives in, while he was stuck learning everything for the first time. He speaks of his ambition, and how he used it to hide the fear of being left behind. He tells him about his father, and all the times they fought, and the one time when the consequences of it were unbearable. It flows out of him, a gift of words and disconnected anecdotes, one last offering before the dawn comes and the echo dissolves into mist.

It’s coming, soon. The horizon begins to lighten, and the echo squirms next to him. His acute perception of time will tell him the second of his departure, but he has no means with which to delay it. Eventually Essek falls silent, choking down an emotion that he can barely name. He can’t let the echo see him cry, he can’t hurt him like that, even if the thought of this Caleb who loves him going away forever makes him want scream.

The echo stands, eyes lost in the distance. Essek lets go of his hand, no matter how badly he wants to cling to it. He doesn’t want to feel him disappear. He turns towards Essek. “I will not have you look.” His eyes are burning, but he smiles for Essek. “I love you.” It makes Essek take in air, and he almost releases it in a sob, but he contains it. “Close your eyes.”

Essek does. Soon he feels the chilled, light lips on his for barely a second. Then the echo pulls back.

The seconds tick by. Then the minutes. Essek forces himself to open his eyes and when he does, the echo is gone.

The sun is rising over the horizon, making the snow-covered landscape glitter like diamonds. It hurts Essek’s eyes, which is why they are wet, he lies to himself. He is considering going downstairs, to the dark facsimile of his room, to protect himself, since he didn’t bring his lovely parasol with him. Then he hears the unmistakable sound of Caleb’s steps coming up the stairs. He dries his cheeks briskly and rights his mantle, hiding all evidence of what transpired during the night. Caleb, his real Caleb, solid and filled with color, comes to sit next to him, in the same spot that his shadow had occupied when they had started talking, almost four hours ago. It feels like an eternity has passed since Essek came up the stairs, like he has briefly lived in another lifetime. It feels like a dream now that he can see his Caleb. It was easy to pretend during the night, but there really is no comparison. Even to Essek’s straining eyes, his red hair in the sun is disarmingly beautiful, and his cornflower blue eyes seem to gleam in the light. Essek yearns to touch, like he was doing mere moments ago, this time with a real person who wouldn’t vanish with the dawn. His hand has come to rest between them, treacherous thing, Essek doesn’t even remember putting it there. He is about to pull it back discreetly, when Caleb speaks.

“I think I haven’t shared the abilities of my familiar with you,” he starts. He has a piece of silver string in his hands, and he keeps wrapping it around his fingers and unspooling it again. “I can go through his eyes at will, and he can also alert me if there is something interesting for me to see, because we are linked telepathically.” He touches his temple to emphasize his point, and then goes back to playing with his string.

Something hard drops to the bottom of Essek’s stomach. He looks up at the cat, perched on the back of the couch behind him. The realization hits him and fills him with dread.

“Caleb,” he begins, voice trembling, “I am so terribly sorry, I never meant…”

Caleb silences him with a shake of his head. He doesn’t look at Essek, and his expression is unreadable. “There is nothing to apologize for, but I need to say something.”

Essek waits for him to continue with his heart on his throat, but Caleb takes his sweet time with it, making sure all the words are in the right order before he allows them to leave his mouth.

“I was very jealous of him, when I saw you two. And it is crazy, because he was obviously in pain, but I saw you two talking, about his…about his Essek, and I thought, he must have been in a better place than I am, if he allowed himself to…” He takes a deep breath, and coils the string even tighter around his fingers. “However briefly, he managed to maintain, he managed to lov-” his voice breaks and his string snaps. He looks at the two pieces in his hands as if they were the source of all his woes. “And apparently you want that, too, you really wanted him, or…me.”

Essek tries to swallow around the knot in his throat. “I don’t want anything that you’re not enthusiastically willing to give,” he manages to say, and he hates the way it sounds, vulnerable and scared.

“That is the thing. I am…I would be.” He swallows thickly. “I would be, if my mind was not a nightmare that I have not managed to unravel yet. There is nothing I can offer in the way of…a partner, in that sense. Not yet. Not ever, maybe, but I would like to think…” he turns to look at Essek, his eyes reflecting back the longing that Essek has never felt more deeply. “In the future, maybe. For you?”

It’s tentative and interspersed with a myriad of conditionals, but a tiny flame of hope starts burning in Essek’s chest, and he clings to it with everything he has. “Okay. But what do you want right now, Caleb? What do we do with…this?”

Caleb takes three measured, deep breaths to steel himself, then places his hand on Essek’s. “Is it okay if this is all I can do for now?” he pleads.

Essek turns his palm up and laces their fingers together. He stares at their joined hands with awe when Caleb doesn’t pull away. “It’s more than I deserve,” he mutters in a half-reverent whisper.

It makes Caleb giggle, the sound high-pitched and anxious and all kinds of wrong. “You do not mind waiting, then? Even if…” he trails off.

Even if this is all Caleb can give him, even if he cannot honestly promise him more.

“I can offer you patience if nothing else. But this is enough.”

_You are enough_ , he doesn’t say, because he knows Caleb’s not ready to hear it.

Caleb smiles at him, brighter than the sun and much less painful. Essek would wait a thousand lifetimes for him and call it a blessing.

**Author's Note:**

> Well folks, it's been fun, but this is probably my last Shadowgast-centric fic, since I no longer ship this.   
> Mostly because I no longer like Caleb.  
> But! I have several other Essek-centric fics in the works :)


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